Smoldering
by Porkchop Sandwiches
Summary: It all started with fog; thick English fog that likes to mist across the screen in crappy horror films and maybe, if you’re like me, in nightmares. Quinn/OC
1. Fog

**A/N: I realize it's kind of dead over here, and most consider this movie to be dumb, but I happen to really like it and after a few months I decided to post this story. I didn't think there was enough Quinn romance and I had a cool character that needed to be unleashed from my head, so here you go. **

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**Fog**

It all started with fog; thick English fog that likes to mist across the screen in crappy horror films and maybe, if you're like me, in nightmares. Fog so thick that you feel like you're trapped in a cloud or being smothered by a sticky, wet pillow. Because that's how I felt; sticky, damp, and smothered. Not to mention pissed off. Jacqueline had made some snide remark about my bum leg and that I wasn't helping out enough. She said she deserved obedience; that after saving me from that dragon and taking me in, carrying me after I'd ran so long, that she at least wanted that. But there was always "just that", and there were always orders, and hiding, and I was just sick of it.

So, I did what I normally do; I let her yell at me. I stood there while she complained about how she should have left me back where she found me, sprawled across the road bleeding. I can still remember the moment she screamed of, I can still remember when I first saw the dragons. It was twelve years ago. I was idly eating a bowl of fruit loops as I watched my dad type on his computer. I was eight at the time, and had spent only a year in London after my dad moved us back to his hometown in hopes that the familiar scenery would inspire him to write another bestseller. That would have made it his fourth, if he'd had the chance. My real mother, who he met in the states, had died on my first birthday. The only memory I have of her is a glossy yearbook picture my dad kept in his room. I can barely remember that much now.

I _can_ still remember the cries of the dragons sounding so close. We knew the protocol and we went to take refuge in our underground safe house. We almost made it; we were so close when one of the scaled beasts snapped him up in a wave of hot air. I don't know how I was able to move fast enough, but I escaped by practically diving underground.

Only after three agonizingly long days of crying and becoming almost sick with some onset of claustrophobia was I able to will up the nerve to run…and I did. I didn't stop running until I couldn't move anymore. I collapsed, my shoes worn in a way I'd never experienced, and my breath taking nearly forever to fill my lungs again. As my adrenaline charge began to wear down, I noticed a large gash in my leg. The wound covered the whole outer side of my thigh to the beginning of my shin, and had nearly destroyed my knee. I passed out, the pain of simply seeing it too hard to handle at that point. When I woke up I was lying on concrete, looking up at three blank faces inside a dark room.

These faces continued to stare at me as Jacqueline's voice grew louder. Her husband, Brandon, stood off to the side, looking only slightly interested as their daughter, Kim, laid in bed, clutching her stomach. Jacqueline said she shouldn't have brought me into their bunker, raised me like Kim, or fed me the small scraps they had to eat. It had really been Kim's idea that I stay, she chose to reveal. Kim, her then ten year old daughter, wanted to bring me in like a mangled puppy. I could believe what she said, because the whole damn family treated me that way. While they did give me shelter and food, their relationships with me ended there. It was always made clear, at least how I saw it, that I was simply a pet to the family. I was even trained by Jacqueline, who had been in the military. She taught me how to use my arms as my support, my strength, because the lack of medical supplies left my leg to heal on its own as the torn tissue fused back in a garbled, bloated mess. And while I can walk, I'll never run again. I needed a means of defense, so she showed me how to tactfully use my arms, to throw, lift, push, and pull. My arms now carry almost all of the muscle that still exists on my body, or as much as they can with the little food we have around here.

My arms are what got me into this ordeal. They were tense as her screaming subsided and she stared, hoping her warnings about what could happen if I kept taking so many breaks in my digging would sink in. We've only been here a couple of weeks, she had repeated over and over, we don't know these people, and they could give us the boot at will. When I was sure she was finished, I walked past her and out of our room. I stormed down the hall and did the dumbest thing possible; I went to get some fresh air.

Despite not going to any formal school after the second grade, I wouldn't call myself, on a good day, stupid. But today, I was stupid. Outside in the fog, I griped the wooden handle of an ax I found lying under some stairwell. I wanted above anything to chop someone up, _anyone_; I thought as I scanned the fog for a moving object. But when none came I hurled the sharp blade into the sky.

I thought that would have been the end of it. I thought that this would have been like the time I broke Jacqueline's glass at last night's dinner when she tried eating some of my ration; that it would blow over, that the ax was history. That was before I heard the familiar shriek. The sound rang through my ears like an electrical pulse and my body locked up in complete resistance to the countless drills. There was only a second until an even louder thud took its place, and then a crash.

The fog seemed to instantly clear, and my mind was brought back to some poorly made scary movie. Laying in front of me in a pierced and gory mess was a dragon, a dead dragon. The weapon I threw may have managed to hit something fatal nerve or it could have been wounded already, it looked bloody in several places, or maybe it was even a mix of both. I don't really know.

_They_ all thought it was skill…but I knew well enough that I was damn lucky. Or at least I did when I regained the ability to speak, to do more than nod as the attractive bearded man I'd seen around seemed to be asking me questions. His face was contorted with a look I couldn't put my finger on as he mouthed things I wasn't able to hear. After a while I remember him placing his hand on my shoulder and leading me inside.

A celebration was created, everyone gathered around then spread out as they drank and cheered. Someone took me to this table and sat a plate in front of me. It's a normal serving dish with half a tomato sliced open, the color reminding me of the dragon.

"I killed it," I say aloud, the words feeling like scales in my throat.

"I know;" I hear a distinct British voice answer.

I jerk my head from my plate and see the same guy sitting across from me, eating the other half of the tomato. Some stray juice runs down a little on his chin but he doesn't seem to notice.

"What you did was a very brave thing. You saved thousands of lives. You…"

"But it was an accident," I assert.

"Kristen, nothing is an accident," he says warmly.

There's that look in his eyes again and somewhere in the back of my mind I want to say I've seen it before, that I used to know what it was.

"Kristen, that took a lot of strength," he speaks slowly. "You…"

He continues to praise me for something I haven't really done, at least not on purpose. But by now I don't really care. For some reason the only things that seem to be sticking are the image of that dragon's glossy-eyed stare and a being weirdly pleased he knows my name.

**TBC...**

**I would love reviews...it would let me pretend I'm not talking to myself. **


	2. Quinn

**A/N: I'd like to start this off by giving a big thanks to OpalGirl83 for reviewing; you put a big smile on my face :D I'd also like to say that this story is strongly centered on OCs and is more of a docile, introspective, yet at times angsty, story of human relationships and not so big on action and fight sequences. I thought a fair warning would be, well, fair. Please keep reading :)**

"What did you call me?" I ask, and he looks slightly puzzled

"Kristin," he repeats. "That's your name isn't it?"

"Yeah, but how do _you_ know that?" It comes out a little harsher than I intended, but he only smiles.

"Small quarters," he explains, gesturing around him.

"Don't remind me," I groan.

Closing my eyes, I lean against the table. My stomach seems like it's taking a page out of Jacqueline's book today and has decided to be pissy as well. I swear I can feel my insides rearranging themselves like chess pieces, and all because of a small case of claustrophobia.

"You should eat," he whispers, and I know he must be close because I can hear him over the loud Hendrix song.

I feel his hand on my back, as he rubs it along my bony spine. I don't really know why, but it actually does make me feel better and I open my eyes again to see he's watching me.

"Quinn," a guy with a very thick Scottish accent seems to address the man sitting with me. "Can I talk to you?"

He stands up, reassuringly pointing to my food as he walks towards this other guy. He's telling Quinn something, nudging him playfully and tilting his head in my direction. I can only hear fragments of what they're saying. I catch the word "dragon" a lot and "digs" or "dips" or "dibs" or something.

Unlike Quinn, the look in his friend's eyes I've become quiet accustomed to in the past couple of weeks. It's one I get from most of the guys here. It's one that doesn't quite reach my face, but right between my collarbone and ribcage. I swear, it's like a sick joke, that I'm on the verge of starving and my chest refuses to wither away like the rest of me. I've always been relatively small but going from eating three times a day to _maybe _one, sucked up what little baby fat I had. And I was content with being a string bean. My late puberty had other plans. Because starting at around fifteen I noticed puffiness underneath my shirt. Kim said they were dragon spawn, Brandon got a lot nicer, and Jacqueline accused me of stealing food. I told her over and over that I didn't as my chest seemed to extend like Pinocchio's wooden nose. But _I_ wasn't lying. After a while I got tired of defending myself and I've come to accept them like my bad knee: swollen and irritating.

High-pitched laughter bounces off the cave-like walls and a crowd passes, all of them carrying drinks as they throw congratulations towards me and stagger off to more crowded areas. It looks like Quinn was able to find a relatively quiet spot.

"_Creedy_," Quinn sighs.

But this "Creedy" doesn't seem to mind as he strolls over and takes Quinn's seat. I can see Quinn roll his eyes as he sits next to him.

"So, does the dragon slayer have a name?" Creedy asks as he takes a sip of something and winces.

"Kristen," Quinn says for me.

"Do _you_have a last name Kristen?" Creedy asks; seeming a little annoyed with Quinn.

"Lawler," I answer, practically expecting his reaction. One, two, three…

"You wouldn't happen to be related to Sam Lawler would you?"

"He's my dad, was my dad," I get out before he's freaking out.

"You're dad is _the _Sam Lawler. The dragon slayer's dad is Sam Lawler," he announces to the mostly empty room. "He was a genius! I love his books! My favorite has to be the one with Robert and…"

He blabs on and on about my dad's second novel like I haven't read it before. Not only have I read it, my dad used to go over the early drafts with me as bedtime stories. He'd pace around the room, acting out the words as his pitch matched the age and gender of the character. I would prop myself up on my pillow and try to look studious as I would respond with what I thought were insightful tidbits like "I see" or "you don't say." Or I would as long as I could before I started laughing, then gradually becoming quieter as my blue piggy clock ticked away on my nightstand. Every night he'd continue turning the worn notebook pages until I fell asleep. When he wasn't working on a new book, which was rare, I'd ask him to read me something else, because by that time I was so used to it I couldn't get to sleep on my own. I still haven't gotten completely used to it now.

"Well, did it?" Creedy says as if he's repeating himself.

"Huh?"

"Did any of that talent rub off on you?"

I'm ready to say "hell no", because I can barely write a coherent sentence let alone a story, when a disgustingly recognizable voice says my name. Her blonde hair swings out in front of her as she slinks down on the bench.

"Hey sis," Kim greets, the familial title smacking me harder than her hand on my shoulder. And I'm very grateful that my hair is a cinnamon shade that prevents her from trying to pass us off as twins.

"_Sisters_?" Creedy chuckles, looking pleased. "Can today get any better?"

"And you would be?" Kim asks in a breathy voice that's so fake it hurts.

"Creedy, and this is Quinn. He doesn't talk much and he's boring," he jeers, which has Kim laughing like a twit. "Where are you guys from?"

It only remotely surprises me when he asks this, because Kim tries to pronounce words as if she were a Brit, but her attempts make her sound more like some confused parrot. I on the other hand sound like that naturally from a mix of eight years with my English dad and twelve with Kim's troupe of Americans. Polly want a cracker?

"The U.S.," she speaks with pride, and I'm silently pleased when Creedy cringes.

"Look at that, I'm all out," Creedy comments, lifting his glass. "I'll be right back."

And with that he walks off, ruffling Quinn's hair, which Quinn bats away, as he sings to himself. Kim's visibly disappointed, scoffing before she snatches the tomato from my plate. She takes a big bite, giggling as if her stealing it is just _so _hilarious.

"You're Quinn? Wow, I've heard so much about you, I feel like we I already know you. But, I'm glad to have a visual," Kim flirts, and I'm _really_ hopping Quinn doesn't walk off too.

"I can get you another one," Quinn offers, completely ignoring her as he indicates my empty dish.

"No thanks," I reply coolly, not wanting to make Kim any angrier.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I had one for breakfast," I lie, surprised that I even remember the term. I'm normally not hungry in the morning so I let Kim eat my breakfast ration.

Currently she's loudly sucking out the seeds from my tomato. Her shoulders are stiff and I can tell she's upset that she's being dismissed. She always needs to be either _in_ or _the_ topic of discussion. It's probably my second to least favorite thing about her, first being her whiplash mood swings.

"Is your stomach feeling better?" I ask in attempt to give her a little attention.

She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Yeah," she sighs as if it's an effort to respond. I guess that's not the kind of attention she's looking for.

"Do you want something to drink?" Quinn asks me, making it clear with his body language that he's only asking me.

That's the last straw. Kim abruptly stands up, my tomato entirely gone. With her hand back on my shoulder she says, "Bye sis, sweet dreams." And despite its simplicity, I'm ninety-nine percent sure of what she means. I just hope I'm wrong.

"See you around, Quinn," she giggles, leaving with a sway of her nonexistent hips.

"She's just _lovely_," Quinn remarks dryly.

"She's hungry," I blurt, wondering why I'm defending her. Maybe it's for some good karma, because if tonight goes like I think it will, I'm going to need it.

**TBC...**

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	3. Doors and Devils

**A/N: This chapter is really tiny, so I decided to just post it tonight with chapter two. I have a few more already typed up, but I'm revising them as I go along. **

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I knock on the door again, for the third time, and press my ear against the wooden surface. I came up here as soon as I could without completely blowing Quinn off or making it seem suspicious. Because I know if Kim is going to be reasoned with, it needs to be done immediately.

I pull the large metal handle to the room I share with my loosely adopted family, making sure that it really _is_ locked, and resort to banging on it in a constant rhythm. I'm half way through some Black Sabbath song my dad used to listen to when the door peeks open. Kim slides through, looking remarkably innocent.

"What do you want?" She asks; her eyes on the floor.

"I thought I'd go to bed. I'm tired."

"Then go to bed," she says simply.

If sure this is some trick, but I take my chances and try to push the door open. But as I half expected she blocks my path as she shoves my hand away. There's a queer smile playing on her lips and I know what she's going to say before she even takes a breath to do so.

"Not here," she orders in a soft voice. I'm not sure if the Devil exists, but I've always imagined he'd have a quiet, little voice that you have to get close to hear. To me that's a lot scarier than a booming one you can discern from a mile off. It's the closeness that gets me, because you're right there…where he can bite you. "You don't live here anymore."

"So, where am I supposed to sleep?" I whisper, because she's doing it and I can't stand it when only one person whispers. It gives me the creeps.

"I don't know," she speaks with a hand under her chin, like she's pretending to think. "Maybe you can sleep with your new boyfriend. I hear he has extra beds."

Before I can even ask who she's talking about, she slithers through the crack in the door and bolts it shut. _My boyfriend_? I smear the palm of my hand across my face, trying to concentrate. _Oh_, I inwardly sigh, I guess she means Quinn. And I feel like this somehow solves everything. I walk down the hall and up a flight of steps when I realize I have no idea where I'm going. I wonder if Quinn _would_ let me sleep with him. I haven't had my own bed since I was about three feet tall. I've been sharing with Kim who likes to kick…a lot. Why does he have extra beds anyway? You know what, screw the extra beds; if it means a bed at all...I'll screw him.

I round a corner to a darker hall when someone bumps into me. I stumble back, crossing my fingers, and hopping I can say something stupid and corny like, "speak of the Devil." Even though that would not only make me sound creepy but crazy since I haven't been talking to anyone.

"Sorry," he mumbles sleepily; this "he" not being Quinn in the slightest.

He's only a bit taller than me, has short, dark brown hair and looks around fourteen. He also looks as if he's just woken up as his clothes are wrinkled and disheveled.

"Its fine," I say, trying to get by him.

But I must look as lost as I feel because he turns around and asks, "Where are you going?"

"I'm not really sure," I confess, and despite feeling ridiculous add, "You…wouldn't happen to know… where Quinn's room is, would you?"

This seems to rouse him a little as he straightens up and smiles.

"Why do you want to go there?" He asks, but seems to backtrack. "I mean, I don't know if you know, but it gets pretty crowded."

"Oh, girls," I assume. I had seen the way the women looked at him, it wouldn't surprise me. He could easily have his pick and then some.

"No, mostly boys," he states casually, and I frown. "No, no, I mean little boys."

"Oh-kay," I speak slowly, fully ready to beat it.

"No, he…he lets the little kids sleep in his room when they have bad dreams. Sometimes they decide to come in a pack, but…he doesn't ever turn anyone away," he finally explains. "I'm on night watch duty, so I better get going. I'm Jared, by the way."

"Kristen."

"Nice to meet you, Kristen," he says before walking swiftly down the hall, leaving me in the dark. In more ways the one, because I still don't know where Quinn's room is.

I guess it's time for plan B.

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	4. Hot Hands

******A/N: Thank you soooo much for your reviews! I'm sorry I disapeared for a while, but I'm making up for it by posting several chapters tonight. Read away.**

The kitchen is empty and I sigh as if I haven't been breathing the entire way down here. This is kind of true because I tried to be as quiet as possible when walking past rooms, down halls, and winding staircases. Being lightweight is one of the few advantages of not eating enough, the other one is that you always remember where the kitchen is. It's a survival tactic I guess, but I also like to know where it is in case I actually do muster up the courage to steal something. I thought living with Kim would have softened me up to this. But her sticky fingers apparently didn't leach on tight enough.

I hear something and I instinctively crouch down. The brick floor feels warm against my hands and I almost don't even care what the noise was. I care even less when I see a frying pan roll from behind the counter, spinning before landing upside down. I'm being paranoid; nothing new there.

I sigh, relaxing into a seated position and lean against the counter. The smell of fire lingers in the room and I close my eyes, wanting the odor to remind me of making S'mores in Arizona, not dragons. I want to think of something, anything, other than dragons, because I can feel myself getting sleepier and I don't want another nightmare about those beats. So, I try to focus on something that wouldn't be too horrible to dream about. I try to think about my dad, but when I do it always comes back to, well, to dragons. I try to think about living in Arizona, but my memories are so misty that I can't hold onto one of them long enough. I think about Quinn; his smile, the way his shirt fits him, and that strange look in his eyes. I wish I knew…

There's a loud clanging noise of metal against metal and I sit up. When did I lie down anyway? The real question should be _why_ did I lie down, because I can feel the knots in my back already. There's another noise, a closer one. A fire blazes. I jump to my feet, immediately regretting it when my bad knee turns in. I try to grab on to the countertop when Quinn, who apparently was bent over and the one making all the racket, shoots a hand to my waist and steadies me.

"Whoa," he says as if calming a wild horse.

And I'm brought back to London. After the success of my dad's third book, we were able to afford a few mares. There was a particular speckled brown and black one that was a little more stubborn in being trained. While trying to warm her up, my dad said "whoa" so often that I was convinced that was her name and couldn't be told otherwise.

"You okay?" he asks and I blink as if testing that I'm awake. I'm pretty sure I am, because he looks a lot clearer than he did last night.

"Yeah, thanks," I say, indicating his quick reflexes, wondering why his hand feels so warm. "What were you doing down there?"

"Oh," he starts, and looking down removes his hold, "I was trying to find this pan."

"You mean that one?" I ask, pointing to last night's noise maker.

"How did it get over there?" he seems to question himself as he inspects it and wipes a little dirt off. "What were you doing…on the floor?"

He doesn't look at me; he just turns around as he positions the pan over the fire I saw earlier. Now standing the small blaze looks harmless, not a floating image of death. Quinn clears his throat as if reminding me that he asked a question and I see a bowl of brown mush by his elbow.

"I wanted to be the first one in line for breakfast," I answer casually.

He turns around, smiling. "Well, you're in luck because you will definitely be the first. It's only five thirty."

_Five-thirty_? I woke up at five-thirty? I woke up at five-thirty and I'm expected to dig all day? I want to go back to sleep.

XXXXX

There's something satisfying about cracking things open, being able to smash something that looks so permanent. I love the feel of the rock breaking underneath my force as I dig. It's probably the only thing I like about this stupid work, because while my arms are strong enough, the rest of me has a hard time keeping up. It may be instinct or bad technique, but the only way I know how to throw the pick down and dig is to try to balance my weight with my legs. And since my dominant leg doesn't appreciate much pressure at all, I tend to get wobbly and easily tired. This usually leads to the frequent breaks Jacqueline was scolding me for; like she can talk.

I give the wall I'm trying to get through a half-hearted strike before I decide to sit down. This in itself is work and I grit my teeth as I brace my weight against a worn rock I haven't gotten to crushing yet. My knee is extremely sore from last night and I trying stretching it out, but this makes it hurt even worse. I shut my eyes, attempting to focus on something else.

"What's wrong?"

Opening my eyes, I see Quinn squatted down to my level in a position I haven't been able to get into since before the attack. He however looks completely at ease, though a little worried, and the thought of him caring brings a twitch to the corner of my mouth in an attempt at a smile. Well, he's also shirtless, sweaty, and looks slightly edible.

"It's just my leg; it's an old injury. I'll be back up in a few minutes," I try to say without straining.

"Can I look at it?"

"I…don't think you want to. It looks pretty gross," I confess.

"I think I can handle it," he jokes reassuringly.

I hesitate for a moment before reluctantly pulling the leg of my baggy pants up to the beginning of my thigh. I try not to wince just looking at it, because I normally try to avoid looking at it at all costs. When I change into the one other outfit I have I never look down, because I know all too well the purpled, bloated mess is still there. Why remind myself? But today it seems more aggravated than usual, veins throbbing up and down as if complaining about my makeshift brick bed.

"Uh," I groan when he lightly touches it.

"Does that hurt?" he asks, and I'm reminded of the doctor who used to jab me in the stomach when I had a belly ache and used the same line. Even though in this instance he's not really causing any pain, it's just those hands of his.

"No, your hands just feel really warm," I mumble.

He raises an eyebrow, understandably not understanding me, but seems reassured and continues his inspection. He places his palm in the underside of my knee and lifts it. This time when I hiss it _is_ out of pain and he stops.

"Sorry," he apologizes with a grimace. "I think you have some torn ligaments and possibly some serious tissue damage."

I nod, pretending like I know what he's talking about, but I think he can tell I'm confused at the point he's trying to make.

"You are in no condition to dig," he explains. "I don't even know why you're down here. You would be much better off…"

I really want to know what he has to say, but at that moment Jacqueline steps up behind him and I'm pretty sure he stops talking because I can almost feel my skin noticeably pale. She has her blonde hair tousled in a mess and she looks as if she hasn't done much work at all. She isn't sweating, breathing heavily, and she isn't even carrying a tool. She may accuse me of being lazy, but I know she only works when she hears someone walk by. Otherwise she sits and gossips with a few other women, and thinking about it now I can remember Quinn's name coming up in their talks. While she liked being in the military, life in our bunk has made her used to doing nothing, and she's really good at it.

"Oh sweetie, it looks really bad today," she coos with a forced expression of sympathy. "Can I get you anything?"

Having spent years with her, I can decode her message in a heartbeat. She doesn't give a crap about my leg, but she wants to seem friendly so I'll introduce her to the guy her friends have been gushing about since we got here; yeah right.

"No, thanks," I answer with an equally fake smile.

There's an incredibly awkward silence and I can almost see Jacqueline shudder. She hates silence.

"Well, I need to get back to work," she says in parting. "Hope you slept well last night."

There's a gleam in her eye as she walks off, shoulders up and head held high. She still walks like a soldier and talks like a witch. I'm glad I don't have to be around her anymore.

"Was that your mum?" Quinn asks, and I almost choke.

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	5. Soaked

**A/N: Here's another! Hope you like it :)**

"No, she is definitely _not_ my mom; she's Kim's mom," I think I make clear.

"But, isn't Kim your sister?"

"No, Kim just likes to say that. It's…a long story," I say dismissively, and try to stand.

But the second I move I feel Quinn's hand push me down by my shoulder. There's another large stone next to mine and he takes a seat.

"You need to rest," he advises. "And I would love to hear this long story of yours."

At first I think he's joking, because honestly no one has ever said that. But when he rests his chin in an opened fist, I can see he's being serious.

So…I start from the beginning, and I mean the very beginning. I'm not sure why but I start by telling him how my parents met in the U.S. at a Cure concert, how they tried for years to have kids, and how she died when I was born. Quinn seems to tense as I say this but I continue anyway.

I tell him about my move to London when I was eight and how I thought that everyone there would be dressed like Robert Smith, because he was the only Brit I'd seen aside from Wendy Darling. He laughs at this, and a few guys shoot him some nasty glares. I suggest he go ahead and I'll finish later, but he just grins and tells me I'd be mean if I stop now. So I explain my dad's work and the books he wrote. Once I get to the bad stuff, I whip by it; whip by the dragon and being found by Jacqueline and her family. I've never told anyone this, and it isn't exactly the easiest thing to get out. The most up-to-date information I have is when we picked up his community's radio signal, realized how close they were, and came over here a few weeks ago. Last night I intentionally leave out.

"Sorry for unloading all of that on you," I say when he remains still and quiet.

"Don't be. Actually, well…," he sighs, appearing uncharacteristically self-conscious. "My mum died when I was young too; killed by a dragon. I was there when it happened."

"Wh…" I begin to probe further when I see Jared quickly walk towards us.

"Quinn, Creedy says he needs help with some leaky pipes," Jared huffs, as if he's been running. "It's not too bad, but he wants to get it looked at as soon as possible. Hey, Kristen."

He nods to me, and Quinn looks slightly surprised.

"You two know each other?" Quinn asks, pointing from him to me.

"Yeah, we met last night," Jared explains, not seeming bothered that Quinn hasn't started on his way to help Creedy.

"You didn't take night watch again did you? Didn't I tell you that it was Creedy's turn?" Quinn scolds like a protective father.

"Creedy was a little preoccupied," Jared explains suggestively with his eyes. "But thanks for worrying about me _daddy_."

Smirking, Quinn fills me in on their apparent inside joke. "I picked this one up years ago, took him in, and _sometimes_…I _may _try to act like a parent. He doesn't seem to like that."

"_Sometimes?"_ Jared repeats, chucking. "By the way Kristin, sorry for being a little weird last night, I wasn't all there yet. Did you end up finding his room?"

He Did Not Just Say That!

"Uh…I…I…" I stutter like an idiot.

I can feel a blush splattering across my cheeks and from my averted eyes can see that Jared looks as if he's regretting his question. Quinn, however, looks very amused.

"_My_ room? Why were you looking for my room?" he questions, looking me dead in the face with a wide grin.

"Quinn, what the hell does it take to get a bloody wrench around here?" Creedy exclaims, completely soaked.

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	6. Eating Alone?

**A/N: ...And another one. This is the last for the night. I have a few more chapters already written up, but as I said before I'm editing them. I realize this is a lot of relationship stuff, which will be the focus of the story, but there will also be more action later on, but not a ton.**

Two weeks swoop by faster than the spanning wings of a dragon. Talk about my "heroic" deed dies down until I almost completely forgotten. Complaints of hunger and relationship gossip settle back onto the community like a well worn sweater, and apart from a squabble between two of the smaller boys, things are peaceful.

My knee throbs constantly now, but I pretty much ask for it. I'm still sleeping in the kitchen, because it's really my only option especially if I still want to stay clear of Quinn.

For the past two weeks I've been able to avoid him like the dentist office. While I know that with the small area I have to hide I'll be forced to talk to him sooner or later, I still try my hardest to prolong this. I dig in an area I know Quinn doesn't go by, largely because it's where the teenage girls like to congregate. They stand around, lazily twirling their picks as they whisper to each other. Early in the afternoon a woman with long red hair rounds them up, apparently to a few hours of school. I'm so glad I'm too old, because I hear them complain about how old the textbooks are and how lean the supplies make it hard to take tests. Supposedly, they only have two pencils.

"Hey, Kristin," Jared greets, rounding the staircase. "You coming to dinner?"

Oh yeah, that's another thing; I've been skipping meals or coming very late. If I'm able to, I sneak into the kitchen before the dishes are cleaned and pick at the leftovers. This way I have no chance of being trapped into uncomfortable dinner talk, which I can only assume will return to why I was looking for Quinn's room. I don't really want to answer that, because I either lie, which I hate, or tell him the truth and risk being coddled with pity. Believe me, I don't need any more pity, Jacqueline's given me enough of that for two lifetimes.

"Yeah, I'll probably come in a little while," I fib, but I hope it doesn't show.

"You know, I haven't seen you in a while," he comments, and then looks to the direction of the stairs.

Glancing up I see Quinn; crap! There's no way I can get out of this. Well, I could walk off…but that may seem a_ little_ strange. It won't be that bad, it won't be that bad, it won't be that bad.

"Hey Quinn," I say, waving like an idiot even though he's right in front of me now; great job, Spazy-McGee.

"Hi," he says with the smile I always see on him. "You guys ready for dinner?"

"_We_ were just on our way," Jared remarks, and apparently I _am _trapped.

"Let's get in line," Quinn suggests, leading the way, and I'm suddenly picturing a dental drill. Hopefully this won't be as painful.

XXXXX

"Do you know them?" Quinn asks, lifting his fork.

I turn around to see Kim with three other girls, all of them sitting on the same bench, munching away and looking at us. They seem pissed off, but if they're anything like Kim that may just be their natural expressions. The one on the right with an especially pointy chin looks as if at any minute she's going to cut my head off with her plate. The one on the left, who may have a self-pierced nose ring, is chomping away at her gruel as if trying to get the spoon down with it.

"Besides Kim, no," I answer, shifting my direction back to my bowl. "Is Jared coming back?"

"Probably not; Creedy said it would take a while," Quinn explains, because another pipe burst and it apparently was Jared's turn to help out. Quinn had offered several times, but Jared was insistent that he'd be the one to go. I silently cursed him as he left, left me with Quinn at a table for two. "I'm glad you decided to come tonight. I usually end up eating by myself."

"What about Creedy and Jared?"

"We have to stagger when we come to dinner so someone's left in charge," he explains as he nods to the cute redhead teacher that passes. And he eats alone?

"Don't you have other friends?"

"Not really; most people don't like to sit down and chat with the guy barking orders," he sighs. "Plus, I've been told that I can be a pain in the ass."

"That must be why I'm eating with you," I say sarcastically, indicating the many times Jacqueline has called me that very phrase in varying tones. "We should start a club. You could be the president and yell orders all you want, and I'll be the secretary that doesn't take notes."

"Do Tuesday nights work for you?" Quinn asks with a smirk, drinking from a tall glass. There's a slight pause as he idly taps his plate. "Is there any reason why they all look like they want to kill you?"

He's gone back to Kim's posse and I shrug, twirling a spoon around my meal and hope he gets it.

"I've never even talked to them."

He makes a noise that sounds like something between clearing his throat and acknowledging my answer, but it's hard to tell with his mouth full. Swallowing, he addresses someone standing to the side with a weirdly formal "Baker." And I'm surprised I didn't see Brandon sooner considering he's six: four, splaying a shadow across me like a boulder.

"Abercrombie," he appears to greet Quinn in is his usual military custom of using male last names. "Kristin."

He speaks my name with just as much formality before aggressively leaning against the table. He's thin lips are gathered together as tightly as possible and he's eyes dart between Quinn and I, then scan over our heads, swing down to his boots and examine my face for a few seconds before he's walking away. That's Brandon.

"I thought he'd never shut up," Quinn mocks, though appears a bit unnerved.

It's the first time I've ever heard anyone make a joke about Brandon, something I've being dying to do out loud for as long as I've met the passive, silent, and slightly creepy guy. I'm not mad Quinn beat me to it, I feel relieved in a way, validated, and I laugh, even though it's not that funny. Quinn laughs too, even though we now have about ten or eleven people watching us. And I temporarily forget why I was even afraid to eat with him. Why was that again?

My answer doesn't come for another four days. Its dinner time and at this point I'm used to meeting Quinn at the base of the stairwell so we can eat together. Just as Quinn had said, no one ever asks to sit at our table. Although a good many do nod or acknowledge Quinn as if obeying a duty to a boss. Quinn seems to be used to it and we continue with whatever we're in the middle of. I soon learn that he actually discovered the first dragon, he isn't a big drinker, he is a big eater, he used to listen to The Cure with his mom, he still misses his mom, he likes to dig, and I should have never asked what was in the gruel. He can be pretty chatty when he wants to be, but when I talk he makes me feel like I have some sort of movie playing on my forehead with the way he concentrates. It's almost a little uncomfortable getting accustomed to it after Jacqueline's darty-eyed rambling and Kim's put downs.

"Did Jared ever fix that pipe on the west quarter?" I ask, silently pleased with my increasing knowledge of the castle.

"Yeah, took him a couple of hours and two other guys, but yeah," he says before wiping his mouth. "He's been so busy lately I don't think I've seen him since the other night."

His innocent remark feels like a jab to my gums, and even though I know he's talking about a different night, I remember just why I didn't want to be around Quinn alone. And with the mention of Jared I can almost sense the question that will inevitably be asked. I, however, am a master at avoiding the dentist and I never give up without a fight…or more like a lot of diversion.

"I'm going to get some more water; do you want anything?" I ask, already standing.

He shakes his head and I flee like a drunk three-legged turtle, clumsily bumping into at least four people. It's not until I reach the kitchen, because I at least want to _pretend_ like I'm getting water, that I realize I didn't even bring my stupid cup. Great, it looks like I'm going to be in here for the rest of the night.

**I would love some reviews :D Please?**


	7. Embarrassment is My Middle Name

**A/N: Hey, guys! I'd like to thank Black Wolf-Dog for her review and motivation for another chapter of this story. Please read and review!**

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"Wake up!" demands the fluorescent purple carrot. "Wake up!"

My eyes snap open, the image of a giggling vegetable running around in my brain. Why am I awake? I raise my eyebrows, stretching my eyelids, and try to understand what exactly is going on.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" Kim asks, still looking short even when I'm lying on the floor. Crap, I'm lying on the floor!

"Sleeping," I speak confidently once I'm on my feet, because she should know I don't have any where to go. And it's just Kim. Well…

"Why are you sleeping on the _floor_?" pointy chin asks, giving nose ring girl an amused glance.

Nose ring girls happens to be perched on the counter as she plays with the small hoop I've named her after. Pointy chin leans against some space next to her while Kim stands off the side. Kim's posture actually looks awkward and then I notice her arm is behind her back.

"What are you holding?" I ask, hoping it isn't a knife…or a talking carrot.

"Just a little of Creedy's pick-me-up," Kim clarifies in the cheesiest way possible while proudly showing off a stout, clear bottle.

"Hey, aren't you that new chick banging Quinn?"

I'm not sure which one asked me; both of them have almost the same high-pitched American laced accent that it's hard to tell if you're not paying attention. Or if you're in no mood for a chat in the middle of the night when you have brick indentions on your face and the topic seems to be spinning into a weird direction.

"Yeah, shouldn't you be there, you know, with him," nose ring girl remarks.

"I'm not "banging" anyone," I explain. "Quinn and I…"

"Oh, whatever," Pointy chin groans. "You don't have to lie. It's _so_ obvious."

"Yeah, and you don't need to feel bad about it or anything, it's not like this isn't normal," her nearly twin says in an off-putting comforting way. "He's done like four different girls this year."

"Oh my god, I know, did you see the last one, Rebecca or something?" Pointy chin exclaims. "She was so red and freckly; I thought she was a deviled egg."

"Yeah (apparently her favorite word), looks like he's trading up this month," nose ring adds like they're two equally annoying co-anchors. "I bet he's only sleeping with you because of your fake boobs."

"So true! I mean…"

"Hey, shut up!" Kim shouts before I can. Wait, what? "First of all, you guys are just jealous because Rebecca looks like a freakin' model. Second of all, Kristen, can you just take your slutty self and leave, because this is our spot."

Oh, that makes more sense. Well, the being a jerk part, because I don't get how this could be their "spot" when they haven't been in here for the past three weeks or so. But honestly, I think I've had my dose of insults for one night and I can feel my cheeks tingling as if I want to cry, which is something I hardly ever do.

"Bye," I spit.

"Tell Quinn I'm waiting for my turn," Kim calls out as I'm stomping down the hall. Who cares if I'm loud? I'll be loud!

"Stupid jerks," I mutter.

Oh, fake boobs, don't they have anything better than that. It's not like it's a new one or anything. I slam my fist against the railing on the stairs. There's a ringing echo, the vibrations shimming up the two flights, and at this angle I observe how dark it is underneath. Below the stairs is a shadowy nook with a dirt base that's hidden from anyone who isn't being a weirdo and stalking around…like me. It looks grimy, but it looks like a good substitute for tonight.

Gradually easing back down on the ground I try to block out what they were going on about, because what do they know? _Well_, they have lived her longer than I have, and Quinn _could _have done all of that stuff. Not that it would matter. Not that I care. Ok…so I may care a little.

XXXXX

Rats! Nasty, squirming, clawing rats! Rats with long nails that like to dig in to skin. Gross, I shudder as I stretch my forearm in front of me to see four three inch scratches in red. Hazard of sleeping in a random dark corner, I guess. And like the lines on my flesh, I mentally cross out yet another sleeping option, because while things may not be so great I'm sure as hell not going by rat attack. Although that may not be an option if I freeze first, I consider as the castle has noticeably chilled in the past few days.

The last six days have gone by as usual, which boils down to digging, speckled with frequent sitting, and eating dinner with Jared, because it's Quinn's turn to play handyman. Jared is relatively quiet and even though I wasn't trying to, I've heard a few other tables whisper my name and Quinn's in the same hiss. I've also caught snippets of hair pulling that supposedly happened in fighting over him. The newly titled, from me of course, Clique Kim, has apparently spread the info about our confrontation, which is just one of the reasons I go from dinner to then scouring for a place to sleep for a few hours before I have to wake up to dig again.

Tonight, roaming the halls, I feel the breeze of the all too soon cold of winter. It's weird; I love the night, it's actually my favorite part of the day, but it's also usually the coldest part, and being cold has to be my second to least favorite thing of all, first being dragons. But in spite of the temperature, I love the feeling of closing my eyes and not having to think of anything. I like the blackness of the night sky and moon that fights to get through the slit-like windows of the castle. However, constantly searching for a rat-free area has slightly darkened its charms.

I duck underneath a sinking section of ceiling. The castle is creepier alone and I feel ridiculous that I haven't gotten used to it by now. I almost expect a mad scientist to rush past me with a candle in hand and a hunched friend behind him. My dad's favorite movie was _Young Frankenstein_, and we watched it so many times that if I squint even now I can faintly see Gene Wilder dancing with his creation. I'm trying not to chuckle from the bizarre picture in my mind, when I feel a small weight run into me. I stop and see a dark haired boy around three or four-years-old. He has a torn, dirty blanket tucked under one arm as both are wrapped tightly around him. The sight alone has my chest aching and my hands takes its own directions when it protectively rubs his back.

"Where's your mommy?" I ask in the sweetest tone I can manage through my sleep deprivation.

"I…I had a scary dream," he cries as if he's answered my question.

"Do you want me to help you find her?" I insist, because he must be half asleep too, and I definitely know how confused you can get when in that state.

"Bad, bad dream. The dragons came again," he whimpers, wiping his eyes. "Where's _your_ mum?"

"She's gone," I say, unaccustomed with the correct wording. Should I have said passed away?

"Come," he weakly instructs, and he takes my hand and pulls me before I have time to even think.

"Where are we going?" I ask, secretly hopping that his mom is super awesome and will take me in and love me forever.

But he doesn't answer. He just continues his cute little shuffle walk, with his icy fingers gripped to my hand. We walk past a few more doors and then he stops. He peers up at me, just for a second, before he knocks on the door. Knocks? Is he more tired than I thought? Why would he knock on his own door? Does he even remember which room is his?

I can hear footsteps, heavy ones, and I'm ready to bolt with him if it's the Jolly Green Giant or Frankenstein. Although, when the door does open I want to walk off just the same.

"Hey," Quinn says with a sleepy grin.

Could this be any more embarrassing?

**A/N: Please review :)**


	8. Arms

**A/N: Black Wolf-Dog, thank you so much again for your review :D It made me very very happy! I hope you like it.**

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"Hello, Turner," Quinn addresses my new limb. "Another nightmare?"

"Yes," Turner murmurs, both of his arms constricting around the crook of my elbow.

"Did your friend have a bad dream too?"

Turner seems to consider his question before nuzzling into my side. "She doesn't have a mum either," he says against the fabric of my shirt.

I guess that rules out the option of being adopted by some cookie-baking mother, because apparently she's either passed away or has abandoned him. For his sake, I'd hope for the first scenario. I wouldn't want to grow up knowing my own mother was out there without me, it'd make me sick.

"Is that so?" Quinn asks as he bends down to Turner's height.

The action reminds me of when he examined my knee, and for some reason the similarity seems to burn the base of my skull. He's looking at Turner the same way he looked at me. His eyes glisten, his face lights up, and I feel about fifteen different kinds of stupid for taking it personally. To him, I'm probably just a scared little kid without a mom; a female Turner.

"Uh-uh," Turner protests, shaking his head. "She has to stay too."

This brings me quickly back into the conversation as my eyes instinctively shoot to Quinn. His arms are splayed open in front of the little boy, and Quinn looks up to me, I assume to answer the question.

"I don't…"

I start but Quinn breaks in with, "Of course she can stay. Now come in, you need to get some rest so you can play tomorrow, right?"

Turner nods limply before allowing Quinn to pick him up. Stepping inside he brushes the door with his elbow and I can now see one of the famous extra beds. There are two others in his small and somewhat damp room. Each has a rusted pipe frame, blanket, and disfigured pillow-like object. A single candle stands by the bed that looks most slept in, glittering pieces of light on an opened book laying spine up. The print is worn, but like every book I see, I can swear it has my dad's name on it.

"Are you coming in?"

I look to see if Turner is listening and realize he's burrowed into a tight ball, I'm sure already asleep. I know he's in good hands. No other reason to stay now. Well, none I feel like sharing.

"I'm good," I say, and back away from the threshold.

"Where are you going to go?"

"To my room, you know, where I normally sleep," I lie, figuring he won't be able to tell. Because normal people do have somewhere to sleep, somewhere to go, and while I don't, well, he doesn't need to know that.

"_Really_?" he chuckles, likes he's aware of more than I think.

Rolling his eyes, he takes me gently by the arm, but even his feather-like hold feels harsh against my cuts and I try to restrain a ragged breathe. He notices. He stills once he closes the door and with minimal movement of his hand, sees the marks.

"Did Kim do this?" He asks, clearly angry.

"No," I reply, wondering why he would assume it was Kim. Can other people see those horns on her head?

"What happened?"

"Rats," I meekly answer, because I can't think of any way to lie.

"These deeper ones look like they could get infected. I have something to put on them if you want," he offers, and I nod. "Can you sit over there where the light is?"

My eyes return to the candle and the unmade bed; his bed. But this doesn't seem the appropriate time to think about that and with some hesitance I sink into the bundle of blankets still toasty from him underneath them, which I'm not thinking about. There's a swirly blue pattern on the sheets and a matching case on his pillow. I poke at a loose thread, almost jumping when I feel it move. Chill out, he just sat down.

"How old are they?" he questions, easing my arm open.

"A few nights, I guess."

"You're probably okay then," he assures.

He begins to dab some liquid on with a rag. It's weird, it doesn't sting at all. I'm not sure if it's because it's not supposed to or if all my skin cells are being overwhelmed by the now familiar heat from his hands. I'm guessing the latter once he's lightly blowing on it. I should tell him to stop but I don't really want to. We're on his bed; I'm not thinking about it. Kim would be very pleased with herself to see this.

"How did you find Turner?" he whispers as if saying his name reminds him that the little boy is still here.

"He sort of found me in the hall. He looked really scared and I love little kids, so I wanted to help him out."

"He seems to like you," he remarks. "Turner isn't like that with most people. It took me a week to get to him to even make eye contact with me. You must be pretty good with kids."

"I guess," I say because while I enjoy being around them I've never had to babysit or anything like that.

He turns from me, handling a wad of a white cloth material. My arm rests by his side and he lifts it again to continue his doctoring.

"I heard about what happened in the kitchen," he comments, absorbed with wrapping up my wound.

"Yeah?" I ask dumbly. What else am I supposed to say?

It doesn't take him long to finish, but when he does he's still not looking at me. He shifts his weight, seeming a little embarrassed as well. With the base of his palm he rubs an eye, squints, and clears his throat.

"Look, I try not to listen to all the crap that gets said around here, but like I said before; small quarters." He coughs again, scratching his face. Hmm…apparently fidgety is a good look for him. "From what I've heard, Kim kicked you out and then there was some sort of fight in the kitchen. Is that true?"

I nod, because he's facing me now and I smirk despite how awkward I feel. "Did you hear that I punched that one chick in the face?"

"I think so," he chuckles. "Is that why they tossed you out?"

"No, there wasn't any of that kind of fighting. They just didn't want me in there, and they were mad about some stupid gossip," I explain; hoping I don't need to clarify, but for some reason add, "It's funny how girls can get jealous over something that's not even true."

I wince even as the words drop from my tongue. Why don't you just come out and tell him? But he doesn't seem to pick up on it.

"Why didn't you just ask to stay here? You know I would have said yes. Or I hope you do," he says slowly, hesitating. "You're my friend."

I'm flattered, nervous, excited, but I don't know how to reply. Internally I'm scrambling for something appropriate, casual, gracious even. I got nothin'.

"Is staying with me worse than being a scratching post?" he jokes, nudging me. I feel a zap.

I shake my head. "No," I chuckle, taking longer than necessary to tag on, "I'm glad we're friends."

That sounds about right, a little cheesy, but I think it will do.

"Good to hear," he says, sounding very pleased. He yawns. "Your bed is already made up."

"Thanks," I say and attempt to step down from his bed because it's stacked up on cement blocks. But he lazily brushes his thumb against my shoulder and I'm frozen.

I can sort of sense him getting closer but before I know it I feel his lips on my cheek albeit for a split second. I _might_ be staring at him now.

"Goodnight," he says innocently, like he didn't just do that.

I know there's something I'm supposed to say. But I'm trying to steady my voice. And it's been so long since I've heard that, that it takes me a second to respond, as if trying to remember the words to an old lullaby. "Goodnight."

**A/N: Please review :)**


	9. Hidden Talents

**A/N: Thank you guys so much for your reviews! I am guilty of working on other Fanfic stories, and I apologize. I'm going to try to post the next chapter very soon. Please review!**

Their postures stiffen, whispers fade out, and some even act as if they've actually been doing work. It's time for school. And I've never looked forward to this more than I have today. The gang of middle and high school girls, the oldest ones only two years younger than me, huddles by the wall they've barely touched. Their gossip has taken a painfully obvious focus on me as they openly gawk with a hand cupping one side of their mouths as if I don't know what they're talking about. Well, I don't know _exactly_ what they're talking about but I can only guess it's about something Clique Kim has spread. Probably some sort of exaggerations about where I've been sleeping for the past week. The phrase "sleeping in Quinn's room" can easily be mangled into "sleeping with Quinn," which can mutate into other crude expressions.

So yeah, I'm incredibly relieved when the group of teenage girls parts and I see their red haired teacher. She gives them some instructions and they walk off in their separate little groups of friends, but today she doesn't follow them. We make eye contact and she appears to study me as if she might know who I am. There's a spark in her eyes and she smiles as she seems to gracefully glide in my direction.

"Hi, you're Kristen, right?"

"Yeah," I say. My voice is a little more hesitant than I like, but I'm suddenly regretting my decision to take a break.

Something about her being a teacher makes me think I'm going to have to clean chalk boards or sit in a corner. Not that she looks like a teacher, because she doesn't fit in with any of the memories I have from grade school. She's about two or three inches taller than me, has a glowing complexion with a few freckles, shockingly bright blue eyes, and almost unnaturally gorgeous hair. The only thing remotely scholarly about her is her very Posh British accent.

"Quinn told me you like to work with kids," she says. "We actually need more people to read to the younger ones in our kind of…preschool program. Would you be interested?"

"Sure," I say. Finally, a better job than digging, a job that doesn't require manual labor, and I get to work with kids!

"Great!" she says before sighing. "I have to go explain Shakespeare now, but I'd like to tell you more about the program. Are you going to Quinn and Creedy's performance tonight?"

"There's a performance?" I ask. I haven't heard anything about this.

"Yes, it's this play their doing. It's great, really. It has action, suspense, comedy, romance," she says. And her eyes brighten just a little too much when she mentions romance. "They've created the whole thing themselves."

"I didn't know Quinn was keeping any hidden talents from me," I say, jokingly of course, but her mouth does this weird twitching thing.

"Hmm, well, how about we meet in the common area around six?"

"Sounds good, but…um, I didn't get your name," I say as she's already walking away.

"Oh, excuse me, what am I thinking?" She says with a chuckle, tucking a strand of her shimmering auburn hair behind an ear. "I'm Rebecca."

And it all clicks; the hair, freckles, and model good looks. She's "Quinn's" Rebecca.

So we're going to a play together, to watch a guy who I'm rumored to be banging and who also might possibly still be her boyfriend. Well, this isn't going to be awkward at all.

XXXXX

A few hours and a brief panic attack later, I'm sitting next to Rebecca on a low wooden bench in a room I didn't know existed. She's very talkative, and her hands move almost as much as her mouth. But, I try to pay attention as she talks about the reading program.

"Right now it's just me and two other mothers. We could really use someone younger. We meet every day and we usually go for a few hours with a lunch and play break in between. I…." She pauses and waves to a little girl who takes a seat a few rows behind us.

"Where did all the children's books come from?" I ask.

She strums her fingers along her jaw line. "My mum used to be a librarian. She was very adamant on saving these books. She's the reason I became a teacher." Her expression is peaceful, her face so bright I could swear she's wearing makeup. "I think you'll do great in the program. Plus, you won't have to dig anymore…which will be good for your leg."

I grimace slightly, because even if Quinn did mean well, I don't exactly like people discussing my injury. And the small tick of paranoia about their relationship sucks a little more of my blood. I mean, why would they even have the opportunity to get in a conversation that serious if they weren't, well, serious? I can't imagine that coming up in passing. Quinn didn't say anything about these plays since we met three months ago, and Rebecca apparently goes to these all the time.

"Hey, Quinn!" Rebecca says.

She throws her arms around him, hugging him very tightly. Quinn is decked out in some weird all black getup. He smiles at me and I do that stupid, awkward wave-thing again. Their close body contact is another bite, and I'm suddenly not too thrilled to be watching this play.

"I'm so excited about the new installment tonight!" she says, pulling back with a grin. "Last night's was amazing."

"How come you didn't tell me about this?" I ask, light in tone. He has been my roommate for almost seven nights, not counting the few times it was his term to have night duty. Well, unless night duty was code for Rebecca.

"It's just—" He starts to say, even raising his voice because the whole room is now full of children. But, the lights flash on and off. "I'm on. We can talk later tonight, okay?"

From the corner of my eye, I see Rebecca's mouth twitch again, her eyes looking sort of angrily at Quinn. I can almost swear Quinn sees her too. Then he leans forward and kisses my cheek, soft but fleetingly like the first.

"In our room, tonight, okay?" he says.

I nod, hoping I don't appear too spacey, because he just said _our_room. If I do he doesn't seem to notice as he walks on stage. Right before the lights go out, Rebecca crosses her arms.

**A/N: I doubt you care, but I modeled Rebecca after Bryce Dallas Howard aka John's wife from Terminator Salvation. Anyway, pretty please review :)**


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